Teacher, Teacher
by Cissa DeLancome
Summary: “Mmm, yeah, you like that? Alright Clyde, you’re first. Get up here. Yeaaah, you’re gonna take it, Clyde…” Based on episode 1205. CartmanxClyde - oneshot - SLASH


**Title:** Teacher, Teacher  
**Author:** Natalie  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** South Park belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker, maybe Comedy Central, too. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary: **_"Mmm, yeah, you like that? Alright Clyde, you're first. Get up here. Yeaaah, you're gonna take it, Clyde…" _--Eric Cartman, episode 1205  
**Notes:** Alright, here it is. Total crack. This actually originated from a conversation I had with **zombiexlemming** about the 'Eek a penis!' episode and the blatant Cartman/Clyde at the beginning of the show. Oh it's cannon, I tell you. Except we're going to pretend that incident happened a few years later, so that it's not _too_ scandalous. xD

I'm having a hard time believing I did this. Many, many thanks to **teskosuicide**, for beta-ing (read: whipping) this fic into shape. You're awesome. :3 For **zombiexlemming**, naturally.

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_Teacher, Teacher_

Clyde stared at the unmarked black videocassette in his hands, feeling the weight of it resting against his palm. It'd been a while since he last tried watching it, but football practice had been canceled today, and he was feeling especially restless. Plus, it was the only one out of his father's not-so-well-hidden collection that he hadn't seen yet, and the others just weren't doing it for him anymore. Too vanilla, or, well, there were only so many times you could watch a flick before it lost its appeal.

Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. Clyde only had a couple hours before his mom came home from work, so he might as well use his time productively. He pushed the cassette in the old VCR, hit play, and made himself comfortable on the floor, leaning against the foot of his bed, the metal that held the box spring pressing into his back.

The television flashed to life, displaying a generic classroom, with a chalkboard, a large teacher's desk at the front, and a few rows of individual pupils' desks. A man and a woman walked on the screen, sleazy music already playing in the background. They were both very good looking, as was standard practice in videos much like these. The man was young and built, more of a teenager in appearance than an adult, really, but that was the idea; the woman, blonde and busty, wearing glasses with her hair up, though she was so plastic, anywhere else she would have looked ridiculous.

"So what did you call me in for, Ms. Teacher?" The young man on the screen asked. Clyde snorted at the originality of the name.

The music swelled on cue as the woman began undoing the first few buttons of her blouse, replying in a fake-sultry tone, "You've been a very naughty boy."

She leaned over, the camera panning in slightly to her newly exposed breasts as she did so, and picked up a pointer stick, waving it around a little before smacking it softly against her palm.

Clyde felt the tingle on his cheeks, his fingertips, in his stomach, the feeling spreading all over his body. He felt himself getting hot, nervous, arousal starting to stir faintly within him. This was the part, last time, when…

No.

The actress wrapped her fingers around the tip of the pointer and slid her hand down the wooden stick slowly, suggestively, eying the boy in front of her with a lascivious stare.

"I'm going to have to punish you," she stated, in that hoarse, 'sexy' sort of voice, and licked her plump, red lips. Suddenly she swung the pointer to the side and whipped it against the front of the desk, making a sharp cracking noise. Clyde gasped quietly, feeling all of the blood in his body rushing to his groin at the sound, causing him to shiver.

He groaned, closing his eyes. Each time he tried to watch this porno, his thoughts would stray to that time last year, when their teacher had been asked to leave until he could sort out some personal issues. Eric Cartman had somehow managed to assume the role of teacher for the day, and took the opportunity to torment his classmates with the prospect of strict, hands-on discipline. He had picked up the pointer, examining it hungrily, his tongue poking out of his mouth, before whipping it against the desk a few times, his clear, dark eyes narrowing as he hissed in unadulterated glee.

Just like the woman in the movie was doing now.

Clyde shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image. There was clearly something wrong with him. This was the second time he'd thought about that asshole while trying to get off. But… there had been something oddly sexual about the way Cartman had leered at him, beckoning him to the front of the class.

Clyde sighed, resting his head back on the edge of his mattress, and replayed the scene in his head—something he hadn't allowed himself to do for reasons he still didn't quite understand.

He remembered looking around the class, and when no one said anything he got up, stumbling a bit as he made his way to the front of the classroom. Cartman had put one hand on Clyde's waist, and, giving him a secret smile, guided him forward so that he was just in front of the desk, back to the rest of the class. Clyde remembered Cartman's voice, close to his ear, low and smooth like velvet.

"Now bend over, and spread 'em."

Clyde's eyes widened and he jerked out of the bigger boy's grip, flustered, sputtering through a furious blush.

"W-what?"

Cartman's eyes flashed, and, bringing the tip of the pointer up to drum his fingers against, he enunciated slowly, "Clyde, I'm teacher today, and that means you have to do what I say. And I said—"

"Like hell we're going to listen to you, fat ass," Kyle Broflovski cut him off, crossing his arms angrily. This launched the two into an excessively loud argument about whether or not Cartman physically threatening the class with a pointer stick was indeed just a bit of healthy, old-fashioned discipline, or something more sadistic. Quite obviously the latter, now that he had the ability of hindsight.

Truthfully, Clyde didn't remember much of what came after, but he wouldn't admit to himself that that was because something about the way Cartman handled him, the way he _looked_ at him, with those crystal sharp yet unreadable eyes, had distracted and worked him up beyond reason. Since then, he'd pushed the memory to the back of his mind, afraid to revisit it… until now.

A loud whipping sound coming from the TV snapped Clyde back to the present. He brought his gaze back to the screen in front of him. The actors were now considerably less clothed, the man wearing only his briefs, and the woman in nothing but a short pencil skirt and high heels. The tie the man had been wearing was now tied over his eyes like a blindfold, and the woman was whipping him with the pointer stick. At each impact the man would grunt and moan, and the woman smiled in satisfaction.

Clyde tried to focus on the slightly bizarre, but nonetheless strangely erotic and so obviously staged scene playing out. The only problem was, at each crack of the pointer, instead of the attractive woman he saw Eric Cartman, smiling his manipulative smile at him.

Clyde closed his eyes and bit his lip. What if it had been just the two of them in the classroom that day? If Kyle hadn't been there to stop him? Clyde heard the actresses' words in his head, but they were coming out of Cartman's mouth, in his distinct drawl. _'You've been a very naughty boy._'

Clyde's breathing became heavier at the thought, shuddering in his throat with repressed lust. He began unbuttoning his own shirt, hands slipping inside to rub over his chest and stomach muscles, brushing his fingers against his skin lightly. Would Cartman have pushed him down on the desk, forced him to hold still while he whipped him with the stick? At each crack of the pointer, Clyde imagined it was he who was blindfolded, bent over the table like Cartman wanted, receiving the blows at the larger boy's hand—moaning, twitching and writhing with every crack of the pointer against his exposed legs, back and backside, each one leaving a biting red welt on his skin.

Clyde slid a hand up to his right nipple and began tracing just around it with his index finger, until it became hard. He twisted the nub gently, sending goose bumps down his skin and making him shiver. He pinched it hard and gasped, the quick, stinging pain flooding through his body. He moved his hand over to do the same to his other nipple, hissing at the rapid-fire sensation as it quickly mingled with his growing arousal; until the hurt turned into pleasure.

"A-ah…"

He envisioned Cartman whipping him with the hard wooden stick, then running his thick, yet gentle fingers over the raw marks he left. Clyde's breathing became quick and shallow as he tweaked and prodded at his nipple with one hand, caressing his lower abdomen sensually with the other. He finally slipped a hand under his jeans, felt himself hardening through the thin cotton boxers he wore as he rubbed and grasped. He imagined it was Cartman's hand shoved into his pants, teasing him, Cartman's lips on his collarbone, his neck, biting hard, and sucking, leaving angry red marks to match the welts on his lower half.

"E-Eric—"

The name escaped his lips in a choked whisper. He heard the other boy's voice in his head again, chuckling in a husky tone, and he almost felt the hot breath at his ear.

'_You want me to touch you, Clyde? Make you cry out my name in pleasure?'_

Clyde stuffed his hand in his mouth, trying to stifle the noises he was making, but still moaning around his fingers. His face flushed, partly from embarrassment at his lewd thoughts, partly from undeniable arousal. He was completely hard. He quickly unbuttoned his jeans, hooking his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down, freeing himself from the restrictive material. He sighed heavily as he wrapped his fingers around his erection, rubbing his thumb against the leaking head.

Clyde started to pump his dick, slowly at first, but he quickly changed the rhythm to rough and fast, how he imagined Cartman would do it. His breathing was quick and labored, and he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out little grunts and moans of pleasure.

He unconsciously became louder as he continued to move his hand up and down the length vigorously, and he threw his head back against the mattress. His moaning blended in with the man's on the screen, but Clyde was hardly aware of the movie playing anymore. He was only thinking of Cartman, and his strong, forceful hands, piercing eyes, the knowing, calculating smile on his lips. Clyde was intoxicated by it, suffocating in his twisted fantasy of Cartman, Cartman, _Eric__, _beating him, touching him, his mouth and hands everywhere. His...

He felt the pressure building up, the clear pre-cum dripping down his dick, acting as a natural lubricant, making his movements faster, and he was losing the rhythm, losing control, chaotic in his desperation to finish, to fulfill the overwhelming need that filled him and made his chest tight. Clyde's eyes were still shut tight as he panted, heard himself moaning, saying _something_, he wasn't sure what, but it didn't matter because he felt his dick throb in his hand, and his body clenched up tight and he cried out loudly as he reached the height of his arousal. The hot, white seed shot out onto and in between his fingers, at the same time the liberating sensation of release pulsed through every nerve in his body, powerful and consuming at first, then slowing down and evening out.

It was a little while before Clyde caught his breath, his heart rate returning to normal. He was still breathing deeply and realized he was now lying on his back on the floor. He blinked his eyes open, almost painfully, as if he didn't want to come back to this place; glaring reality.

He brought his hand up to inspect it, the sticky white substance coating his fingers. An insane thought fleeted through his mind. What would Cartman taste like?

Clyde sighed, wiping his hand messily on his jeans. He noticed the movie was still playing quietly, and he quickly sat up, leaning forward to click it off. He held his breath and listened for a moment… no, the house was completely silent. And without the need to panic and worry about if his mom or dad had heard him, what he was _really_ worried about could plague his consciousness.

Well, it's pretty clear now, Clyde thought resignedly to himself. He had a thing for Eric Cartman. And possibly some strange fetish he never knew appealed to him before.

He admitted it because he knew there was no escaping it now, now that he'd had a taste. That was only the best orgasm he'd had in months, the video having done nothing for him besides provide the catalyst to his arousal—the sound he'd heard the first time he'd thought about Eric like that.

He groaned again. Oh god, what was he going to do about this? He had a crush the school's biggest, slickest asshole, who somehow possessed this inexplicable charm and allure, especially when all his attention was on Clyde.

Like in chemistry class on Thursday mornings, when their teacher took advantage of the double period to make them do experiments with their lab partners, and Clyde's partner just happened to be Cartman, and tomorrow just happened to be Thursday.

How was he going to deal with Eric, brushing up against him and smirking, bossing him around like he owned him… Saying his name in that way he did, drawing it out, sometimes taunting, in singsong, or soft and low, hypnotizing.

Clyde felt a disgustingly pleasant flutter in his stomach, and he folded his knees up, burying his face into his hands.

He was so screwed.

_-fin-_

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A/N: Come on, you know you wanna review... ;)


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